


if you need somethin' to believe in, you can go believe in me

by artifice



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Grantaire, Canada, Canadianisms, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Road Trips, This is literally all fluff, coming home, hoser, ryan gosling voice:, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21869239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artifice/pseuds/artifice
Summary: Distantly, he thinks about inevitability— how there might be a distinct lack of spherical predominance in the world, but how despite this, when he slides their hands together again, it feels a little bit like fate.alternatively: grantaire finally comes home after a short art tour in canada.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	if you need somethin' to believe in, you can go believe in me

**Author's Note:**

> rich brian was on colors so obviously i had to write something lmaooo,, 
> 
> wrote this like last week and was debating posting but it's 1 AM and that's the best time for impulse decisions apparently so .
> 
> anyway! there's very very little plot and it's mostly just soft. also idk how this happens? but i always seem to be writing about boston and halifax . lol. ames get out of your hometowns challenge.

_Christmas eve will find me_  
_Where the love light gleams_  
_I'll be home for Christmas  
If only in my dreams..._

* * *

**December 23 – 8:21 PM  
**  
  
  
“Yellah’,” Grantaire says, sticking his cigarette in his mouth and pinning his phone to his shoulder with his right ear while he fumbles with his lighter.  
  
  
  
“ _R_?” Enjolras’ voice comes through tinny and faint through the speaker.  
  
  
  
“Apollo.” There’s the satisfying _tschk_ of his lighter, the low crackle of flame catching on the end of his cigarette, and finally, a sigh of relief as nicotine hits his system. Hands now free, he slips his lighter into one of the pockets of his sweatpants and picks up his phone with a gloved hand. “I’m already on my way, you know. Think I texted you when I crossed the border.”  
  
  
  
He hears a slight huff. “ _No, I know that, I’m just calling to say, um_.”  
  
  
  
A shaky inhale, distorted by the distance.  
  
  
  
“ _Stay safe, okay? Weather looks like it's gonna get worse._ ”  
  
  
  
Grantaire smiles around an exhale of smoke. He pushes off the bumper of his car, taking a moment to brush the snow off his lower back, and takes another drag before replying.  
  
  
  
“Anything for you,” he says softly.  
  
  
  
Enjolras is hardly what he’d describe as romantic, but the man has his moments, especially when he shows affection with his painful practicality. What can Grantaire say? He’s got it bad, and he loves it.  
  
  
  
“ _Boston’s not too far off, then?_ ”  
  
  
  
After another drag, Grantaire drops the butt to the slush beneath him and firmly puts it out with the heel of his Timberlands. “I know you're awful at geography, but it’ll be just like our song, Enj,”  
  
  
  
“ _Home for Christmas_ ”— Enjolras lets out another huff— “ _I’m holding you to that._ ”  
  
  
  
“Don’t stay up for me,” Grantaire unlocks his car and kicks his feet lightly against the side to dispel the slush before stepping in. “Roads like they are, I probably won’t get in until past midnight.”  
  
  
  
An indignant noise. “ _I don’t care. It’s been three weeks; I’m going to cuddle you so hard the moment you step through the door._ ”  
  
  
  
Humming fondly, Grantaire moves his phone to his left ear and turns the ignition. “More like I’ll take a shower at one and carry you from your desk to bed.”  
  
  
  
“ _Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not going to fall asleep doing work_.”  
  
  
  
Glorious heat starts to come through the vents, and Grantaire double checks his dash to make sure the gas tank indicator is on F. “See, you say that…”  
  
  
  
Enjolras’ laughter is like a balm to his weary soul. “ _I won’t tonight,_ ” he amends, “ _and no promises going forward._ ”  
  
  
  
Beaming at nothing in particular, Grantaire leans back in his seat, right hand resting lightly on the gearshift. “I love you.”  
  
  
  
He can imagine the smile on Enjolras’ face— it’s the same one every time he says those three words, after all— the brilliant smile that’s half exasperation, half disbelief, and all parts adoration.  
  
  
  
“ _And I, you_ ,” he says quietly, solemnly, as though Grantaire could ever doubt the strength of his love. “ _Drive safe_.”  
  
  
  
The exchange is better in person, he thinks.  
  
  
  
“See you soon.” Grantaire pulls the phone away from his ear and ends the call, then tosses it in the cupholder. With what is surely a stupid grin on his face, he hits the play button on the console, eases out of his parking space, then follows the signs out of the service station towards the I-95.  
  
  
  
Three weeks in Atlantic Canada for business was really too long away from Enjolras, Grantaire muses, though he won’t lie and say he regrets the trip. Halifax had been a quaint, charming city, and the construction downtown only promised better days for its inhabitants. The winter ocean had been a sight as well, dreary as the weather was— the harbour had been rich with history, and the art scene flourishing, but every glance out at grey waters had brought with it a pang of homesickness. There had been something painfully beautiful about seeing his beloved Atlantic from a different point of view.  
  
  
  
That first Saturday, he had taken a break from workshops and gallery showings for the weekend to sightsee. He had watched the sunset while FaceTiming Enjolras, talking about everything and nothing at once, sitting on the rocks by the navy memorial at Point Pleasant as the wind whipped at his face and the great anchor towered behind him. The night had been spent crawling through the seemingly infinite number of bars and pubs in the heart of the city with a few colleagues, and it had all felt very… Canadian.  
  
  
  
The following Sunday, he had made his way to Peggy’s Cove— for the view, he had said, but really for the souvenirs, because Enjolras would look so _charming_ with a bucket hat from ye olde Nova Scotia— and then he had been off to Liverpool on the second joint of his tour. Throughout it all, he had missed his fiancé desperately, and the feeling had permeated even the most enjoyable of moments. After circling around the provinces, he couldn’t wait to get home.  
  
  
  
“Gone too far to change, time to get your rollerblades,” he sings along with Rich Brian, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “That smile is worth the wait.”  
  
  
  
4 hours left.  
  
  
  
**December 24 – 12:54 AM  
**  
  
  
Grantaire punches in the code on the door, listening for the telltale click of the lock sliding back. He opens the door slowly, mindful of the squeak, and steps into their apartment, lifting his luggage to minimize the noise he makes coming in.  
  
  
  
The main foyer is dark, though the end of the hall is illuminated by a warm glow from what Grantaire knows to be the dimmed kitchen lights. He turns and makes quick work of his boots and winter coat, getting as far as unwinding his scarf before he’s tackled from behind with a tight embrace. Blond curls fling over his shoulder and smack his jaw lightly from the momentum of the hug, and Grantaire can’t help but laugh as he squirms to turn around in his fiancé’s arms.  
  
  
  
“Don’t hurt yourself,” he says, voice impossibly fond as he finally tugs his scarf off and tosses it somewhere behind him. Then, without further ceremony, he buries his face in the crook of Enjolras’ neck and hugs back tight, arms around the blond’s waist while he drinks in the scent of home.  
  
  
  
“Missed you,” Enjolras mumbles into his dark hair. “Missed you so much.”  
  
  
  
Grantaire sighs contentedly, shifting even closer. “What’d I tell you, huh?” His voice comes out muffled against Enjolras’ skin. “Back home for Christmas.”  
  
  
  
They spend a few more moments like that, just breathing in sync and relishing in the feeling of completeness after three weeks away. Before Grantaire can break the silence, Enjolras makes one of his (adorable) Grumpy Sleepy Sounds.  
  
  
  
“You smell like your car,” he grumbles, pulling away slightly to pout.  
  
  
  
Grantaire is literally so fucking _gone_ for this man, he swears. “That tends to happen when you drive for twelve hours, babe.”  
  
  
  
By some impossibility, Enjolras gets cuter as he blows a raspberry in response. “Shower,” he says, stepping back fully and twisting them around so he can get Grantaire’s luggage. “Then bed. And _then_ ,” he worms back into Grantaire’s space to press a light kiss against his lips, “I’m not letting you go for a long time.”  
  
  
  
Grantaire can’t help but smile into the kiss. He lets Enjolras pull away with one of his signature huffs, then clasps their hands together to drag him to their bedroom.  
  
  
  
Half an hour later, Grantaire wraps a towel around his waist and steps out of their ensuite to see the blond sprawled out on his side of the bed.  
  
  
  
“Oi,” he says, tossing his towel onto the loveseat in the corner and nudging Enjolras over. “Wrong side, ya hoser.”  
  
  
  
Enjolras squints. “The hell’s a _hoser_ ,” he mumbles, but dutifully rolls back to his proper side.  
  
  
  
Laughing quietly, Grantaire lifts the covers and wiggles his way beneath them. “Gone so long you forgot to share?” he automatically reaches for Enjolras, and they seem to be magnets, with how quickly they become a tangle of limbs. Distantly, he thinks about _inevitability_ — how there might be a distinct lack of spherical predominance in the world, but how despite this, when he slides their hands together again, it feels a little bit like fate.  
  
  
  
“Just missed you, is all,” Enjolras yawns. “Helped a bit.”  
  
  
  
Grantaire feels a pang of guilt run through his spine, but when he props himself on his elbow and opens his mouth to apologize, Enjolras fixes a glare on him. “Don’t say sorry,” he commands, though the effect is lessened by the exhaustion in his voice. “You were doing good up there, and I’m so proud of you.”  
  
  
  
“Enj,”  
  
  
  
“ _Proud of you_ ,” he emphasizes by tightening his grip on Grantaire’s hand. “Okay?”  
  
  
  
Grantaire lets the sentiment wash over him and hides the series of sappy emotions he knows is flitting across face by flopping onto Enjolras’ chest. “Okay,” he whispers against soft skin.  
  
  
  
Then, because he can’t resist, he presses a trail of kisses up Enjolras’ body, skipping his lips in favour of booping his nose. Enjolras lets out an endearing snort and pulls Grantaire down to kiss him properly.  
  
  
  
“I love you,” he says as seriously as ever once they pull back for breath, and his expression is one of clear adoration.  
  
  
  
“And I, you,” Grantaire responds.  
  
  
  
He was right— it sounds _so_ much better in person.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "where does the time go" - rich brian ft. joji
> 
> talk to me on [tumblr!](https://rtifice.tumblr.com/)
> 
> happy holidays, y'all < 3


End file.
